Yes, To Tea
by He will knock four times
Summary: Overtime, Sherlock begins to put the pieces together, that, when all applied to the same subject, can only mean one thing. A part of the "The Value of Sleep" story I wrote a while back.
1. Chapter 1

I've been working on this one since last October. Editing and changing this and figuring out that and going "OHH! What would happen if-". Sherlock is hard to write, guys. I think I have a good grasp of how to write him but it took me a while. There are two prologues basically to a story I want to write. The value of sleep from John's perspective and this from Sherlock's perspective. I finished most of it and published it all in one go. I'll add a few more chapters though and then call this finished.

XXXXXX

Sherlock was curious about John from the first.

He's curious and that's entirely unusual because with everyone else he can observe and deduce almost everything about them within minutes of meeting them. Then delete everything about them afterwards when they prove to be boring, which is almost always. After an hour, he can know everything and more, if he chooses to care enough to know.

But with John, however, he only seems to observe the rudimentary information. Far less than everyone else. He knows from the cut of the hair, the tan at the back of the neck, the way he perks up at sudden noises, and even that stance that screams parade rest, that this man is military. That limp and the cane don't match up. The gait is off for a person reliant on a cane and he doesn't even bother to ask for a chair. So, an injury that he's forgotten about. Psychosomatic, most likely a therapist. Invalided back, psychosomatic limp, and if he's with Stanford then most likely a doctor. The comment earlier from him confirms this, "a bit different from my day." Military doctor. Interesting. Which is even better because there are so few new and interesting things.

A military doctor would be more convenient as far as flat mates go. This may even be tolerable. As a doctor and a military man, he would be well accustomed to seeing body parts and a doctor of medicine may certainly be able to appreciate an experiment. If not, well, he would at least have a strong stomach. The man then offers Sherlock his phone when the detective asks Mike for his, knowing the man wouldn't have it on him. He isn't disappointed either. The doctor offers his phone up right away and the interactions they have from there are astounding.


	2. Chapter 2

The first-time Sherlock notices something is off, is when Anderson walks up behind John at that first crime scene in Lauriston gardens and John flinches. He flinches and quickly steps once to the left leaving his back to the corner and everyone else in his field of vision. It's different and out of line with Sherlocks deductions about John because nothing he had gleaned of the man suggested weak nerves. He seemed unfazed by most everything around him. Bringing John to the crime scene was invaluable a tool for measuring details about his new flat mate.

John didn't flinch or seem disturbed by the sight of a dead woman. He instead looked calculating, even eager. Fascinated and a touch ashamed because John Watson was a moral, caring man who knew what emotions you should not have in the presence of a dead human body, particularly because it was dead, and so was attempting to look disturbed and succeeding with Lestrade; Sherlock wasn't fooled. A career soldier, inured to the sight of violent death, who needs adrenaline, and stands up to everyone Sherlock has caused him to meet so far. So, the flinching is interesting and makes Sherlock question his running catalogue of deductions on the good doctor. Soon after though, everything he has seen of the man reinforces the observation that bravery and strong character are a part of John Watson and so Sherlock chalks it up to PTSD. A lingering habit from the war designed to keep him safe and potential threats out of his blind spots. The flinch was a result of being snuck up on.

Soon after though he starts to notice other things that, although small, make for an interesting puzzle. John is, to use a pedestrian word, fussy about his privacy. He's almost meticulous. Sherlock immediately notices the replaced lock that is at least twice as strong as the old one when he goes to examine his new roommate's things. It spikes his curiosity on what his roommate has to hide. It's easy to pick it and enter. John's room is as equally meticulously kept as the clothes he wears, which considering his longstanding military background is not surprising. It's also sparsely decorated with only five photos on the wall.

One family photo and four of John at various stages in his life, without family members in them. Interesting. John seemed to think he was required to show that he cared for his family but his priorities were displayed very easily here. Personal accomplishments and friends proudly displayed at the front of the tableau, rather than family. The one with his family was almost an afterthought with dust collecting on the frame and it being smaller than the others. Not a photo he picked up often then. It showed John in a badly-fitted suit when he was approximately five, or perhaps older (who knew? John was short even then), grinning at the camera. A sour-faced little girl older and taller than John in her Sunday best, was rolling her eyes, obviously, Harriet.

Sherlock had never liked her. It probably had something to do with how completely distressed and wretchedly unhappy John looked when he came back from a visit with Harriet. Sherlock disliked seeing John unhappy. He got these sensations in his chest that were unpleasant to experience when John was sad, and he, as a sociopath, couldn't understand or fix the problem. He tried various solutions though and had found a combination that worked. John relaxed and even smiled with fifteen minutes of Pachelbell played softly and a cup of tea prepared by Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had tried numerous occasions to make it himself, normally he wouldn't as housework was dull but he'd read that it would have more impact. John tried to hide that he disliked the tea Sherlock made and made sure to drink every cup. Sherlock hated that it was a skill that eluded him.

The body language of both parents in the photograph, though, were rather telling. Mrs. Watson was a good six inches from her husband and stiff shouldered, angled slightly away from him and her smiled was forced. Her husband was equally stiff and the way he placed he placed his hand on each of his children's shoulders showed a firm hand but a lack of sentiment. Ah. So, the marriage had soured early in John's life and his father had been disinterested. Interesting, and many things about John can be inferred from this. He stored it away in his mind palace to consider later.

A search of the drawers show that John's military trained tidiness doesn't stop at just what's visible from the doorway. His handgun is kept in the right nightstand drawer, safety on, pristine and with no evidence of being used to shoot murderous cabbies. A look in the closet shows more of John's military training as there is a spare blanket and pillow, three bottles of water and some nutrition bars. It's odd but then Sherlock considers how John's training would require him to be prepared in an emergency and he dismisses it from his mind.

Some books piled up on the nightstand catch his attention, but then he realizes it's the usual fictional drivel John likes to read and he loses interest. The only place left in the room that he hasn't looked was under the bed and although he was eager to search it, he couldn't. John had been adamant that for all Sherlocks invasions of John's privacy, the items kept under this bed were off limits or he would move out. Sherlock felt that he could possibly get away with it, but wasn't willing to test this and risk losing John in the process. He was much too fascinating in comparison to the other dull morons.

He had to, reluctantly, turn around and leave. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist if he glimpsed any item under there.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlocks friendship and partnership with John began to strengthen gradually over the first four months and John had defended Sherlock quite a few times already in that span of time. John protected Sherlock without thinking it and Sherlock felt it odd that that protection had almost become an unconscious compulsion for his friend. It left him warm and unsettled to know that all that needed to happen was for someone to threaten him physically or insult him, and John would become angry. He defend Sherlock vehemently as if either kind of attack were the same. He was unaccustomed to having someone so thoroughly on his side or willing to defend him, even when he was being 'not good'. Additionally, Sherlock couldn't have ever claimed to having a friend before. So, it took Sherlock completely by surprise when he found himself equally willing to do the same for John, without even thinking about it.

It had been a crime scene. Theft. Fairly pedestrian and barely rated a five but the crimes worthy of his attention had petered off. The only reason he was there was because otherwise his brain would rot, and because Lestrade had referred Sherlock to Dimmock. There was promise to this case Sherlock was finding. No CCTV or prints, eye witnesses null, the police had ruined any opportunity to trace the thief from carpet prints or dust marks. Any trace evidence null because the culprit had obsessively cleaned everything including the floor on the way out the third-floor window. Not even a hair from any of the house occupants to be found. It was interesting at the very least. It provided a challenge because finding the thief and providing evidence would take time and effort. Not stimulating enough but enough to keep him going until a serial killer showed up.

John had come along, and was discussing something stupid people like to discuss with one of the Sergeants near the door. John should never waste his intellect or time on such endeavours but he seemed to insist on it. The doctor's presence was desirable but overall irrelevant. Sherlock had no need of John exactly because this investigation had no promise of danger and no body to advise medically on. All the same, Sherlock found John to be as soothing and solid as a ticking clock. Sherlock thought better and more clearly with John around and since people liked him, (People liked John, not Sherlock, of course. Obvious. No one liked Sherlock) they were more willing to give Sherlock what he wanted if John was present when Sherlock asked for something.

It made Sherlock somewhat uneasy at times. It didn't matter that John was reliable, trustworthy, and useful or even interesting. It was depending on another human being and Sherlock had come to recognize a longing in himself for John's presence on many occasions that had nothing to do with needing his medical advice and everything to do with just wanting John. He was unaccustomed to it. He found himself also showing off more. Deducing people on the street just to see John exclaim "that was amazing". He'd caught himself in the middle of doing so many times as of late and realized it for what it was. He wanted to impress the other man. He'd been acting like prepubescent adolescent teen performing tricks in front of his 'mates'. It made Sherlock cringe at how he just couldn't seem to stop doing it to get praise from John. Deduce something, see John's eyes become wide with open admiration, hear some adjective for extraordinary; it was better than cocaine and Heroin combined (and he would know).

Sherlock paused and became disturbed at how easily thoughts of John had disrupted his thought processes. He had been in the middle of a case and instead of working had taken the time to think of his flatmate? This simply would not do. He would have to consider the John problem later. Sherlock shook irrelevant thoughts away and got to work. Five minutes later however and Sherlock began to become very frustrated with himself as his brain kept turning back to John. He grimaced and finally allowed himself to look at the man and realized what he'd missed before when he'd glanced earlier.

John was not enjoying the conversation he was in. He could, in fact, be called uneasy. Shoulders back, feet evenly distributed, hands behind his back. Classic parade rest. When John was anxious or uncertain he reverted to this stance but then again he also did this during long waits and instances of danger. This wasn't uncommon for John and didn't necessarily indicate acute anxiety, but the rest did. The tension in the cords of his neck spoke of keeping tight control and the way he was angled away from his conversation partner said mountains about his feelings. It was his leg however that cinched it. John was leaning slightly, listing to the left because the right was acting up. John was afraid and under stress and working to not show it.

Sherlock turned his attention to John's conversation partner. Clearly, he needed another look over if John was having this extreme a reaction. Taller than John, black hair, nondescript face, gay, Sargent, reoccurring insomnia, not wearing matching socks, repairs his own clothing due to his lack of funds, and likes blueberry muffins going by the crumbs on his shirt. He was also romantically interested in John. Oh. That was interesting. Clearly, he was making some pass at John and John was reasserting his usual lies about his heterosexuality. The Sargent was practically making out with John if the look in his eyes was any indication, and although Sherlock couldn't find fault in this as this only indicated good things about his sense of taste, Sherlock stayed still to avoid notice and observed.

John was shaking his head slowly and clearly trying to be kind as he turned the man down. Whomever this cog in the metro police force was, he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. Cog reached out and tried to brush an errant lock of John's hair behind an ear. John jerked back. Unsurprising really. Sherlock had found early on that John did not appreciate being touched. John was becoming intensely uncomfortable and had raised his voice slightly, not enough to be audible but certainly a quiet murmur. Cog looked angry his plans were being thwarted and frustrated. He seemed to be insisting on something. John shook his head, said 'no' firmly going by the lip-reading, and turned to leave the conversation-cum-argument.

Just when Sherlock thought his observation was over, Cog proved himself to be stupid but valuable in one rare instance. John had completely turned around and was stepping as if to walk away when his wrist was grabbed. John jumped, spun around, and shouted at the man as he pulled his arm from the grip on it.

" _I SAID 'NO'!_ "

Everyone was quiet and staring at the normally quiet doctor. Sherlock found himself intrigued by the reaction. It was out of proportion for the event at hand and John was shaking now. It wasn't obvious but Sherlock knew John very well and saw it. He had also heard fear in the near-scream. The blond realized he had disrupted a crime scene with his display and became embarrassed. He seemed to pull himself together and stammered out his apologies rapidly.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean-... I... I need to go."

He went, limping as fast as he could out the door. Slowly, people began to get back to work as if nothing had happened.

Sherlock didn't even spend time considering it. He tore off his latex gloves in favour for the leather ones and followed John out the door. It took a few minutes but Sherlock finally found him in the left alleyway two flats over, hiding behind a dumpster. He having a panic attack. Rapid breathing with head between knees. Chest heaving. Attempting to breath in air but not quite managing to calm down judging by the red face and wild look in his eyes. Hands that were normally so very steady, were trembling worse than the detective had ever seen them.

Sherlock stopped five feet from John and dropped into a crouch, hands facing the ground and arms stretched out. He had never attempted to tame a wild animal before, but for John's sake he would try. He deliberately scuffed his shoe on the ground to make noise, alerting John to his presence. Someone sneaking up on John had started this, a second fright would only make it worse. He kept his voice low as he spoke. Attempting to sound gentle or comforting wasn't something he would call 'his area' but evidently, he was doing something right. John had scrambled away from at first, completely frantic and not entirely present, but slowly started to calm down and come back to himself.

"Sorry, sorry, I-sorry I didn't mean- You were working and I-" John rambled on between gasps, apparently sorry to have disturbed Sherlock while he was working and clearly ashamed to have been seen like this.

How absurd. John was infinitely more important than a four and this episode was giving Sherlock the stimulation he needed via trying to deduce how to make John more at ease. Sherlock found that now that John had calmed and began employing meditation breaths, it only made things worse if Sherlock kept his distance. John's anxiety increased if Sherlock tried to leave. This was very new. Never had someone required his presence to feel at ease. So, Sherlock slid close enough to turn his head and be breathing the same air, and be brushing shoulders with John, as he plopped to the ground.

"John, I rather find that I don't care to investigate right now." The ' _that you've had a panic attack_ ' went unsaid but John caught it regardless. John seemed to redden at that and Sherlock cut him off before a new round of 'I'm sorry's began. "I'd much rather sit with you here as you describe to me why my proposed Phosphine experiment will not be taking place."

Clearly distracted, Sherlock was pleased to notice the confusion on John's face as he focused on the sudden non-sequitur. "You want me to tell you ' _no_ '? And what experiment?"

Sherlock feigned irritation and continued to monitor John's emotional state. "I told you yesterday John, during lunch, about it. Don't you listen? I detest repeating myself."

John looked incredulous (less pale and shaky Sherlock noted.). "Sherlock! I was at work all day yesterday. I didn't get home until seven! And what's this about Phosphine?!"

"My experiment, John! I explained!"

"To no one at all! Just because _you_ have conversations with some imaginary me in your head, it doesn't mean I'm actually present and able to know about them or what they entail. And I'm not a bleedin' chemist either! Now what the hell is Phosphine, and why are we discussing it?"

Normalized pulse except some heightened blood pressure from the conversation. Complexion normal and breathing rate nearly fully recovered. Eyes clear and focused with only slight twitches: pupils only slightly dilated. Maintaining focus and mental equilibrium while discussing a topic. No sign of disassociation or lack of grasp with reality. Hand still trembling slightly however and John didn't seem up to standing just yet. Progress. A little more.

"Phosphine is a gaseous toxin that is highly flammable and will smell of rotten fish if I get it from the wrong seller. However, the purified form will be odourless and quite undetectable in the air. As it happens, I have found the right seller. It also is luminescent with a little diphosphane present. Highly corrosive when introduced to water or a rat's stomach acid. It can cause pulmonary edema, among other ailments, and would only show the symptoms of pneumonia. I simply must study it as a potential vehicle of murder. As for why we are now currently repeating yesterday's conversation, I am now reminding you that I intend to work with a poison, as you so often insist I do."

John had been looking bemused throughout this entire speech and seemed to be absorbing it.

"No." He said calmly. Sherlock opened his mouth and John cut him off. "No. You are not working with an odorless, colorless gas that is highly flammable and works as a poison in our flat."

"But John-"

"You don't even have a gas mask Sherlock. And I've banned all flammable experiments after I had to call the firemen last time and sleep in 221C for three days while repairs were done. I nearly got seriously burned."

"John, that was concentrated Acetaldehyde! It's completely different from this. To be fair, how was I to know that you would set it on fire?"

"Because it was all over the damn stove-top when I went to go make dinner! Of course, I was gonna turn on the gas and igniter you git! This sounds like an extremely serious chemical and I'm not having you risk yourself because you were playing around in the flat. What if I'm not there and you make a mistake Sherlock? I don't want you to get hurt."

Sherlock paused. The object had been to engage John and divert him until he calmed down. Although successful in that goal, he hadn't expected sentiment to crop up as John insisted that he not risk himself. _John is concerned about me_... he felt rather warm.

"We can discuss it later John. May I ask what happened?" He asked, purposefully not looking at John, who was a very proud man and would find being seen like this embarrassing. The sudden tension felt in the shoulder next to him showed that John wasn't enjoying having his panic attack be put in the spotlight again. The doctor cleared his throat and managed an even tone of voice even if his words stumbled.

"I-please don't ask me any questions. I need- well I mean I can't... I'll explain later but not right now." He looked pleadingly at Sherlock.

Sherlock understood and bit his tongue. "Very well. At least let me ask this; Are you recovered? Is there some way I can help?"

"I'm fine. I think I should go home though. I'll be taking my medicine for sure tonight. You go back to your work."

Sherlock resisted the urge to remind John that most of his PTSD medication said it had to be taken daily, or to comment that he knew John neglected to take it completely, only giving in when he had to. Instead, he stood and offered his hand to pull the other man up. The shorter man seemed aware his leg was shaky and took the help up. Be brisk, Sherlock reminded himself, John appreciated action and it would help the older man remain calm.

"I'll help you hail a cab John. You have a mystifying lack of ability for it."

John was quiet as they slowly made their way to the exit of the alley. Sherlock found John's hand on his wrist, squeezing lightly. His voice was thick with gratitude and equal parts embarrassment. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm really glad you're my friend." Then the shorter man let go and tottered off slowly to the curb on unsteady legs, leaving Sherlock feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him. His throat felt hot and swollen, and Sherlock decided that if it continued to ask John. It would be an inconvenience to get sick if an interesting murder happened.

He cleared his throat and got a cab quickly, neither man looking or talking to each other. As much as Sherlock wanted to abandon this one, he understood that John needed privacy and quiet in the flat. So, he watched the cab pull away, pushed John from his mind (successfully this time), and 'solved' it after four hours, even if he deduced who the thief was twenty minutes ago.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock returned home to find complete silence. The detective had anticipated a whirlwind of cooking or cleaning from John, both activities done when under stress or anxiety as a way for John to exert control over his environment. It appears that, for once, John had skipped cleaning altogether and went straight to his room. There wasn't even a cup of tea in the sink.

Looking around Sherlock spots scuffs on the wood floor that had John's shoe print and size. John apparently couldn't wait to get upstairs and had even stumbled at one portion of the journey. Following the stairs up to the first floor sitting room, Sherlock nearly tripped on John's jacket that lay at his feet.

This was, in its own way, alarming to Sherlock.

Even under stress, John wouldn't just drop it to the floor. He would hang it up (nearly always) or toss it over the back of a chair (rarely, when stressed or in a hurry), but never before had he just dropped it. As a man with military history and low income, he was neat, clean and took care of what few material possessions he owned.

Sherlock scanned the room and found it untouched save the carpet indents moving towards the stairs. They dragged on the left in random increments. John had moved quickly upstairs then, stumbling slightly. His leg would be a problem for a few days. Will need to factor that in for when Lestrade finally calls about that Kensington murder. Sherlock thought it over and moved to the stairs. He would check on John and collect any information along the way. He was showing concern towards a friend. Surely John would consider this 'good', and not be upset that he was disturbing him. He made it to the landing and paused when he realized the bathroom door was open now. He turned to John's door which was closed, and then looked back to the open bathroom door.

He worked better with data, and any information on John's mental health would help them both. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, Sherlock saw the order of events. A pile of clothing thrown in the corner haphazardly instead of the hamper, along with the shoes. They were wrinkled and the tile had dirt tracked in from the crime scene. He would know because it was more porous and had more sediment than the kind found near here. John had stripped in a hurry and tossed everything in the corner, before stumbling into the shower.

Another shower.

This was John's forth this week and it was only Tuesday. He hadn't needed the extra two as he hadn't done anything that required him cleaning himself up. Sherlock had known that John washed an absurdly frequent amount of times. Why so many, so frequently? Looking at the pattern, Sherlock was reasonably certain that it was a psychological response. John sometimes showered after a particularly bad nightmare.

There was a study done on the trauma habits of soldier back from active service he would need to re-read. They often described the need to 'wash the blood from their hands' and would occasionally scrub their hands raw in the sink. Was this the same? John was so quiet and reserved about things like this that it was difficult to know for sure. This was data regarding the mind, a much harder subject to quantify even with the classes on psychology he had taken back in his Uni days. Based on the moisture levels, John had left it two hours ago, before leaving. An hour and a half spent in here.

Sherlock scanned the bathroom for more evidence. The mirror was ajar and john had made use of the medicine cabinet. Sherlock opened it and checked John's pills. The appropriate amount missing for each bottle. At least John had taken them, like he was supposed to regularly. Sherlock replaced the bottle back to its place and closed the cabinet before turning to the other areas of the room. His shoe squeaked when he took a step. Looking down, Sherlock realized what he should have immediately. The bathroom had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. John had cleaned after all. There was the faint scent of that lemon cleanser his blogger preferred to use and the tiles, sink, and shower all gleamed.

Why the bathroom though, and no other room? Sherlock finally spotted the answer after ten seconds when he looked at the lip of the counter top. John had missed a spot in his cleaning. A light maroon splotch, no larger than a quarter centimetre, that was drying to his final dark brown. It stood out even more because the bright coral of the countertops highlighted it. His lips thinned together into one tight grimace. Not Good. Leaning in closer, Sherlock could see the smears of where there had been more blood John had attempted to clean up. Looking at the medicine cabinet again, he realized that the bandages and gauze had been placed back and the shelves within wiped down. There was dust missing. John had bled and bandaged himself.

Sherlock didn't see anything of significance here and now, he really needed to check on John. He turned back out into the hallway and moved to the stairwell to Johns room at the top. It was locked. These factors were confusing when put together. This was not at all John-like behaviour. Sherlock finished picking the lock and opened the door the 56 degrees he could before they finally squeaked. He slipped through quietly and approached the bed. He could hear the breathing of his friend, deep and even. Stopping at the edge, Sherlock measured his friends REM state. Deeply asleep then, no chance of waking up due to the prescribed tranquilizers. John would yell a great deal if he though Sherlock was invading his privacy but Sherlock had to check John's wounds; and prove himself wrong on what had caused them.

Moving slowly, he leaned over his friend, keeping his eyes on John's pulse. John had taken great exception to Sherlock sneaking into his room before while he was sleeping, and on one memorable incident, had attacked him while still partially asleep, not quite recognizing who it was in his room. He spotted them right away. Johns forearms had bandages from wrist to elbow on both sides and small dots of blood had seeped through. He squeezed his eyes shut. That article had also covered self-harm. Breathing in deeply, Sherlock unwound the first two inches of the bandages carefully.

The wounds were irritated and red, looking as though had run through blackberry bushes. Scratch marks. John had been scratching his arms to the point of drawing blood. It was all too much. He had to leave John's room before he started throwing things in a fit of anger he couldn't even identify the cause of. He clumsily wrapped the bandages back, pulled the blanket up high to keep John from getting cold, and locked the door behind him on his way out.

He made his way to the couch downstairs and tried to meditate, to process this, and couldn't. He flung himself off the couch and grabbed his violin, playing a violent, discordant song to match his insides. The confusion and anger that John was damaged and that he, Sherlock, didn't know how to fix it. That John was hurting himself from some form of pain he wouldn't share with others. He played and played until he was calmer and soon, his playing evened out to something called music instead of noise. Sad mournful tunes as he thought of what to do.

John was a stubborn, proud man. He would never admit to this unless forced to do so and that might cause a fracture in their relationship. Sherlock couldn't allow John to hurt himself anymore either. How often did John do this? Was this frequent? No. It would be difficult to carry on the fiction of perfect health if this was done frequently and John had a very expressive face. So, infrequent, and triggered by heightened episodes of PTSD beyond the usual level of stress. John's reaction to the policeman grabbing him earlier had triggered him in some way. Sherlock further destressed at the idea that this wasn't a normal occurrence for John.

He wasn't entirely sure though, now that he had established this was infrequent, what to do with this information. Confronting John was possible but unlikely to work out. Proud, strong, unwilling to be weak, he would not be receptive to the help offered to him. Sherlock considered it and decided to see what John would tell him later. He would just have to monitor John and put a stop to it, if it happened again.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock begins to notice an interesting pattern of behaviour in John over a span of time.

For one, the man showered more than anyone he knew and he had met germaphobes. The detective entertains this idea for a while. It would explain the showering and John's irritating insistence that they had to clean the flat regularly, and then there is how neat and orderly John is about his clothing. He dismisses it quickly though. John's military training and a surgeons invested interest in hygiene could account for two of those. The showering is interesting however.

Sometimes after a nightmare, Sherlock can hear John get up and run down to the bathroom regardless of the time of night or when he last showered, lock the door and get in for a long rinse. The irregular rhythmic movements he hears during these instances show that John isn't masturbating but scrubbing himself off. He wonders what dream in particular it is that does this to John. John frequently has nightmares but not all of them make him react this way so there must be a specific set of memories involved in this dream to spark this. Even more interesting is John's behaviour in the morning after. Always buttoned up clothing with layers. As little skin as possible is shown and John hates touching and being touched for hours.

Sherlock might have put this up to war-induced PTSD except he notices another trigger for this pattern that aren't nightmares. At first Sherlock thinks it's John's being uncomfortable about being alone with people he doesn't trust. That theory is quickly put to rest when he realizes John is relaxed with some people he doesn't know, but not others. Sherlock wonders why he is afraid of being left alone with a person and then he walks in on John sitting in the morgue with Molly and realizes how relaxed John is in comparison to all other instances. He looks it over, thinks back, and wants to kick himself. Of course, Stupid! Obvious!

Men.

John is afraid of being left alone with strange men. No, a man. Singular. He is completely relaxed with men in the plural form, but a strange man in the singular is an altogether different story. This is intriguing. John always looks extremely uncomfortable when Sherlock leaves the room and John is alone with a man he doesn't trust to a certain degree. Not overtly, because John does a good job of hiding it, but he is stiff shouldered and his feet move to parade rest even while sitting down. Sherlock walks back in the room and can find John relaxing.

Sherlock had tested all sorts of computations to leave John alone in. A man and a woman John doesn't know, he will be relaxed alone with them and even engage in conversation. A woman and a woman, he is positively chatty. A man and a man, John is slightly more reserved but mostly relaxed. A woman alone in the room with him is no problem. A man he has never met, or doesn't know well, and John is making excuses about having to use the restroom before Sherlock even has the opportunity to fully leave the room. If on the occasion John cannot find a reasonable excuse to leave, he is tense, maintains a physical distance, refuses to talk much, and there is a 47.6 % chance of him having a nightmare later that night.

Sherlock tested this scenario three more times over a course of several weeks. John always looked tense and tried to find some excuse to leave the room without letting on to the real reason. However, if the men he was left alone with were people he trusted, at least to a certain degree, I.E Mike Stamford, George Lestrade, or himself, John was relaxed and happy enough. Sherlock feels he could even make a number scale ratio of John's trust to relaxed state when in relation left alone with a man. This would explain John's reaction to that police officer a few months back. Sherlock felt confident in his deduction though.

John has androphobia, but only when left alone with a man he doesn't fully trust.

Sherlock feels delightfully intrigued by this development. When did John acquire this set of thinking and how? He's completely comfortable with Sherlock, and Sherlock delights in this information as he's never been able to say he's had people trust him before. They've needed him to solve their little problems and have no choice but to listen to what he has to say. They do so grudgingly and even with some actual hate inside. John just smiles, says 'amazing', and follows without question.

Certainly, the circumstances that made John develop a target-based phobia of adult males must be traumatic. At the very least the event must have been strong in John's memory because the unease is real for him. Typically, Sherlock finds that androphobia occurs with survivors of torture and sexual assault from a man. John had been a soldier in Afghanistan however and being a prisoner of war was a very real possibility for soldiers. Although, John had been a medic and wouldn't have been on the front lines or have had any valuable information. His uniform had included a brightly coloured Red Cross arm-band. This didn't make sense.

He glanced over. It was a typical scene for them. He, laid out fully on the couch, with his hands under his chin, thinking. John was tapping away at his laptop, in his usual glacial fashion, sat upon his arm chair. From the look of him, no one would ever guess he was afraid to be alone with men he didn't know. Going by the look of his shirt and the under areas of John's eyes, John had slept well last night with no dreams. A rarity then. John's nightmares were part of PTSD. Result of torture? Inconclusive. Not enough information.

His theory had its own problems. It might explain nightmares or trust issues, but it didn't explain the showering or the scratching episodes. The torture as a P.O.W didn't make sense either. Who would bother to kidnap and torture an army medic for no apparent information? Had John just been deployed as part of a platoon? Wrong-place-wrong-time? Perhaps it had been leverage, but then again, the British government had a very firm stance on negotiating with terrorist demands.

He felt frustrated and would have to find a way to ask about John's military history that wouldn't upset him. John often didn't like speaking about it. If Sherlock was right about his torture theory, then it was little wonder why.


	6. Chapter 6

Slowly, overtime, Sherlock begins to put the pieces together that, when all applied to the same subject, can only mean one thing. He finds himself frequently re-examining it over a period of months and looking at other options, each one more unlikely than the last, desperately trying to find any other explanation. Finally, after being forced to admit to himself that the reason it's taken so long is that he doesn't want to be right, Sherlock bows to the inevitable.

Sometime in the past, before he met John, someone had sexually assaulted his only friend.

Sherlock has never wanted to be more wrong in his life than now. He didn't want 3+3 to equal 6. The idea that someone had hurt John in such a way was bad enough, but the idea that they had gotten away with it...

It was unbearable.

And they must have gotten away with it. He had gotten a hold of Mycroft's file on John and no such incident was listed. In all likelihood, the incident took place in John's military days. The high incidence rate of rape in the military made this deduction much more likely, particularly since accusations of such a crime were rarely taken seriously or investigated in the army; especially when men were the victims. This would explain the nightmares and John's pedantic showering habits. The way he wouldn't walk around the flat in less than trousers and a shirt. Why he would flinch when someone snuck up behind him unexpectedly. The scratching. His adamant lie about being straight and his pervading fear of being left alone with unfamiliar men.

Someone had done this to john. They had done this to him and were still walking around free.

Unacceptable.

It was completely _unacceptable_.

He briefly contemplates confronting John about this, to convince John to give him the name of his attacker if he knows it, but ultimately hesitates. There is a reason Lestrade preferred John to be present when he, Sherlock, was interviewing family members and victims. Come to that, Sherlock prefers John to be present when interviewing victims and relatives. There was so much crying and emotions and not enough details and too many stupidly useless stupid people that Sherlock couldn't be bothered to deal with kindly, that John was altogether so much better with.

This time though, it wasn't like Sherlock could ask John to help him interview John; this WAS John. John who smiled at him and said 'amazing' and shot people trying to kill him, when everyone else sneered or insulted him and ran away when there was danger. With anyone else he wouldn't care enough. But this was John and John wasn't stupid or useless like everyone else, so obviously, Sherlock couldn't just go in like he normally did like a storm and leave his only friend to handle the sticky emotions. Sherlock wasn't willing to be the one to create the sticky emotions either. There had been damage done to his friend and he found the idea of hurting him further repellent.

He supposed he could go slow and work at getting the name out, if John knew it. He could be gentle if a situation warranted it and John was certainly worth gentle. How though, was he to start? Did he just flat out ask John? Sherlock thought it over and rejected the option outright. Too startling and it certainly didn't leave John any solid ground to stand on if Sherlock were to pull the preverbal rug out from under him. Nor was it slow or gentle. Perhaps he should hint that he knew and let John adjust to the idea. It was overly ambiguous and John, while smarter than the rest of the worlds goldfish, could be distressingly slow at times. It also left John the option to lie to him, and John was a proud man, so he might, which ultimately vaulted Sherlock back to option A.

He could ask Mrs. Hudson, he supposed, for advice on how to ask John about a traumatic event. She was very motherly and knew all sorts of emotions, so she would be a good choice when it came to matters like this. He was a genius, so asking in a way that left John's privacy intact was entirely possible. She might however advise him to not ask and he just couldn't. John's _rapist_ was walking free and whoever could do something like **that** to someone like John must be an absolute monster; so, Sherlock couldn't possibly NOT investigate and just let them go free.

The internet leaves no good solutions either. His searches are filled with testimonies and crisis hotlines and very few conversation guides on how to discuss this. He does brush up on his research on the victim mentality of survivors and any other related articles. There may be some way to help John cope better than he is now. He had learned about this early on and had even investigated some cases involving rape but that was a surface search to give him tools for the work. It had been more focused on the rapist themselves to aid in their capture. This was more in depth research to help him, help John. Reading testimonies and psychology articles are a sort of self-torture that makes him worry his nails at the idea of John feeling any of this. It was positively absurd that Sherlock could hate John, particularly for something like this.

Eventually Sherlock settled on the idea of letting John tell him when he was ready to. It was difficult for Sherlock to decide on this because it would require exceptional self-control to not blurt out that he knew to John. Furthermore, he wouldn't be able to ask for information about his friend's attacker until John was willing to tell Sherlock. Which has its own special sort of strain on Sherlocks self-control. He needed information and detail to deduce and catch the culprit. 'Data, data, I cannot make bricks without clay'. Simply doing nothing and letting the monster who hurt John continue with impunity, was out of the question.

There were however definite benefits to this plan that convinced Sherlock however. For one, John would feel comfortable enough to tell him, Sherlock, about the attack and wouldn't be overly anxious like he would if Sherlock sprung the information on him. It was unusual for Sherlock to care about anyone's emotions when there was a case to be solved but John proved to be the exception in so many ways for most things. Another reason is that it allowed Sherlock to investigate quietly into Johns background to try to find the culprit without disturbing John. Hopefully there was some clue or even an accounting of an accusation on file.

"Tea, Sherlock?"

Jolted out of his palace, Sherlock saw John smiling at him, back from work and unaware of anyone knowing his secret.

"Yes." Yes to tea, and yes to finding out who had done this.


End file.
